


getting to know you

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Grantaire is a smitten fool, Nonbinary Grantaire, Other, Trans Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: Grantaire loves Enjolras quietly (okay, pretty fucking loudly, but not in any recognisably genuine way) and from a distance, Enjolras untouchable upon his marble pedestal, and that’s enough for them. Really.(In which Grantaire falls in love with Enjolras the ideal, and then Enjolras the person.)





	getting to know you

Look, nobody can deny it; Enjolras is fucking gorgeous. Grantaire wouldn’t even try to deny it if they could, and beauty does not equal good, they know that by now, but Enjolras is beautiful and he’s good and he makes Grantaire’s heart hurt.

Grantaire can’t tell if it’s in a good way or not.

Both, probably.

Enjolras burns hot and bright like the sun, and Grantaire really needs sunglasses, or maybe welding goggles. They have alcohol, though, which is almost as effective. They even get attention from Enjolras when they’re drunk. Not positive attention, sure, but attention nonetheless.

Grantaire doesn’t care about the softness that Enjolras is capable of; his cold flinty stare is enough for them, even when there’s a wrinkle between his brows, as if Grantaire is some kind of unsolvable puzzle.

Grantaire loves Enjolras quietly (okay, pretty fucking loudly, but not in any recognisably genuine way) and from a distance, Enjolras untouchable upon his marble pedestal, and that’s enough for them. Really.

 

* * *

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, sinking into the chair opposite them, his beautiful lips pulled into a frown.

Ah, fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Enjolras is even more beautiful up close, his lashes long and feathery, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose dusted with freckles a shade or two darker than the brown of his skin, only visible at such short distance. Grantaire makes some kind of strangled noise in the back of their throat and tries not to stare at Enjolras too obviously. Wait, no, making eye contact is okay. It’s polite. Right?

“Grantaire?”

Oh, right. Grantaire shakes their head to clear it. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it today.” As if they aren’t literally every single day.

Enjolras’ answering smile is unexpectedly warm, and Grantaire melts in the face of it. “That’s alright. I’m not here on official business, anyway.”

“Then why are you here? You basically never speak to me one on one.”

Enjolras bites his lip attractively. He does _everything_ attractively; it should stop being a surprise. “I know. That’s sort of why I’m here. I’m close with everyone else here, and so are you, so I thought we must have something in common, right?”

“Um.” Grantaire’s brain has turned to mush. They blink at Enjolras. “Yes?”

Enjolras’ smile widens, baring his front teeth, which are a little crooked. It’s adorable. “Well, don’t be a stranger, then. Courf’s having a post-exams party on the weekend, you should come.”

“I was… going to?”

“Oh.” Enjolras dims just slightly. “Well, we should maybe hang out a bit. At the party. Get to know each other better.”

What the fuck? “Sure. I mean, yeah, great. Um. Sorry.”

Enjolras huffs out a little breath of laughter. “Out of it today, I get it. I’ll talk to you on Saturday.”

Grantaire can’t even respond, and Enjolras is sitting on the other side of the table next to Feuilly by the time they realise what just happened.

Actually, no, they still don’t know what just happened.

What _did_ just happen, exactly?

 

* * *

 

“You came!”

Grantaire is barely through the door when they’re greeted by a somewhat tipsy, extremely enthusiastic Enjolras. They try not to stare at the bare inches of skin between his crop top and his jeans, but Enjolras is fucking gorgeous and he looks incredible like this, unrestrained and happy. He’s wearing eyeliner, for fuck’s sake. Grantaire fixes their gaze firmly on Enjolras’ face, and Enjolras steps closer.

“Can I hug you? You look like you give good hugs.”

Grantaire nods, a little dazed, and before they know it, Enjolras is pressed against them, his arms over Grantaire’s shoulders. Grantaire places their own arms around Enjolras’ waist, brushing bare skin.

“I was right. You’re a good hugger,” Enjolras mumbles against Grantaire’s top. Okay, not somewhat tipsy, _absolutely hammered._

Grantaire struggles not to laugh hysterically. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I finished exams yesterday,” Enjolras says as an explanation.

“That doesn’t tell me an awful lot about how much you’ve had to drink,” Grantaire responds, as if they have any right to worry about someone’s alcohol intake.

“It means I’ve stopped doing maths for the year.”

Grantaire laughs. “Touche.”

Enjolras pulls back to smile at them, bright and wonderful, and Grantaire physically can’t handle how beautiful he is. At least, until Enjolras’ face scrunches up.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Grantaire tries to guide Enjolras to the bathroom in time, but just ends up with Enjolras’ vomit all over their shoes. Combeferre intervenes and takes Enjolras home, and Grantaire spends the rest of the night barefoot.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire wakes up in the morning to their phone buzzing. They’re not even hungover; they wanted to be able to remember everything about that hug.

 

_Enjolras : _ Combeferre told me what happened last night. I’m so so sorry. Will you let me make it up to you?

 

_Grantaire : _ it’s fine don’t worry

 

_Enjolras : _ I feel really bad, at least let me buy you coffee or something to make up for it.

 

Grantaire stares down at their phone in disbelief for several long minutes. _Play it cool_.

 

_Grantaire : _ you really don’t have to, but if you want to, sure. Musain?

 

_Enjolras : _ Sounds great!! Just… not quite yet. I’m still pretty hungover.

 

_Grantaire : _ take your time. I’ll wait for you.

 

_Enjolras : _ :-)

 

* * *

 

Enjolras, when Grantaire goes to meet him, is a little tired, and a lot beautiful. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun, wispy golden strands framing his face, and his lower lashline is smudged with the remnants of eyeliner he hasn’t been able to completely remove. “Hi,” he says, as Grantaire approaches.

Grantaire responds likewise, and sinks into the chair opposite. A waiter immediately emerges to take their orders, and then they’re alone. “You really don’t have to do this. Lord knows I’ve had enough drunk fuckups in my life.”

“I want to,” Enjolras says. “And I’ll pay for your shoes, of course.”

Grantaire snorts. “Don’t worry, I got them for like five bucks, and they were already falling apart.”

Enjolras’ face twists. “You know if they’re that cheap they’re probably made in a sweatshop.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, “but I can’t really afford to spend much more on shoes at the moment. Parents cut me off.”

“All the more reason for me to let me buy you new shoes, then,” Enjolras says, and settles back in his chair, triumphant. “We’ll both get something out of it.”

Grantaire senses that they’re not going to be able to get out of this so easily. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Their coffees arrive, and miraculously the conversation shifts. A potentially volatile situation, and it was resolved without conflict. Perhaps Grantaire should bite their tongue more often.

 

* * *

 

“The question is,” Grantaire says, as they wander along the streets together, “do I want to be a vans bisexual, or a doc martens bisexual?”

Enjolras throws them a weird look. “What?”

“It was a thing a while back, don’t worry your pretty head.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, shaking said pretty head. His hair catches the sunlight just so, and Grantaire is shocked into silence for a moment.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says, when they’ve recovered the ability to speak, “I don’t always think before I speak.”

Enjolras pauses, and shoots Grantaire a funny little smile. “I did think you couldn’t be as much of an asshole as you pretend to be.”

Grantaire blinks at Enjolras. “I am a massive douche.”

“Sure,” Enjolras says, and starts off again, “you keep pretending that. I’ll know you’re nice, deep down. In the ways that matter.”

“Please don’t expect better things from me than I can deliver.”

Enjolras hums, considering. “Only if you don’t expect worse things of yourself. You can let yourself care about things.”

Enjolras has them _so wrong_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, Professor cynical sceptic.”

“Professor? I _have_ risen in your esteem.”

Enjolras snorts. It’s far too cute. “No, there’s just an unfortunate lack of gender neutral titles.”

Grantaire will concede that point.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, lifting the shopping bag. They found a second-hand pair of docs in their size that had been barely worn and weren’t too expensive, satisfying both Enjolras’ and their own desires. They’re standing outside their front door, because Enjolras _walked them home_ , and their heart is literally fluttering. That's probably not a good thing. “I had a nice afternoon. So. Thanks.”

Enjolras lets out a soft laugh, not condescending or making fun of them, just happy. “You already said that. And it’s fine. I had a nice time, too. We should do this again.”

“This?” Grantaire suspects that Enjolras doesn’t mean shoe shopping.

“Hang out.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says, and they’re sure they’re blushing, and they can’t quite bring themselves to meet Enjolras’ gaze. “I’d like that.” _I like_ you.

“I have your number from, um-” Enjolras breaks off, because Enjolras has their number from all the times that Grantaire was meant to do stuff for him and failed. The texts between them have been nothing but terse, strained, and there haven’t been any for some months, apart from the ones this morning. “Well, I have your number, so I’ll let you know when I’m free, and we’ll sort something out?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees, still struggling to process the fact that Enjolras wants to be their friend. “Yeah, okay.”

“I should get going, but…” Enjolras steps forward with his arms out, and Grantaire finds themselves swept into a hug. Enjolras’ hair smells vaguely citrusy, his skin vaguely floral, and Grantaire is so fucked. Enjolras chin fits perfectly over Grantaire’s shoulder when he goes up on tiptoes. Grantaire is reluctant to let go, but it’s going to get weird otherwise, and something within their chest aches as they move away, longing to hold Enjolras again.

Enjolras’ expression is weird when he pulls away, but he seems more pleased than embarrassed, so Grantaire counts that as a win. “See you around, R.”

“See you,” Grantaire says, slightly dazed, and Enjolras is halfway down the street before they even think to look for their keys and let themselves in.

 

* * *

 

“Enjolras, this is all your fault.”

Enjolras looks up from his laptop worriedly. “What did I do?”

“My entire little toe is one giant blister.”

“Oh, is that all?” Enjolras smiles and rolls his eyes, but turns away to dig in his bag. “Here,” he said, and throws something at Grantaire.

“You have terrible aim,” Grantaire says, ducking underneath the table to retrieve the box of bandaids. “But you’re also a saint who has saved my feet, so I’ll forgive you just this once.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes again and turns back to his laptop, before pausing and frowning at Grantaire. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

Grantaire returns the frown, undoing their boots all the while. “There’s a meeting starting soon?”

“I know, but why are you here now? You’ve never been early to a meeting before.”

Grantaire hadn’t realised Enjolras had noticed. They shrug. “No time like the present, right?”

Enjolras turns back to his laptop once more. “You’re going to have to entertain yourself, I have to finish typing this up.”

“Don’t you worry, I am _very good_ in that pursuit.”

Enjolras’ cheeks are too dark to show a blush, but there’s a certain amount of something that looks like embarrassment in his expression. He keeps his gaze on his computer screen. “I really didn’t need to know that.”

“Goodness me, Enjolras, you have a dirty mind.”

“Don’t even try, Grantaire.” Enjolras almost laughs, though, and he smiles as he keeps typing away.

 

* * *

 

_Enjolras : _ Hey, are you free Thursday afternoon?

 

_Grantaire : _ well I have therapy at 2 but I can probs do after that

 

_Grantaire : _ I might be a bit off tho. depends.

 

_Enjolras : _ We can do another time if it would suit you better.

 

_Grantaire : _ nah company is usually good after and Musichetta has some fancy event and she’s taking the boys as dates so it was just going to be me and the tv

 

_Enjolras : _ I can see if Combeferre’s free if you just want company. I don’t want to invade if you’re not going to be comfortable around me.

 

_Grantaire : _ dude it’s fine. I like hanging out with you. I’m looking forward to it :)

 

_Enjolras _ : Me too. :-)

 

* * *

 

Grantaire does feel tired, because therapy is important but it can also be really fucking hard, but they really are looking forward to seeing Enjolras. They _like_ him, more than just as the distant leader, but as a person. A friend.

So they don’t feel too anxious when they ask Enjolras if they can just hang out at their apartment rather than going somewhere. When Enjolras arrives, he pulls Grantaire into a tight hug, and Grantaire reassures him that they really are fine. And they are. Dragging out your past and all of your undisclosed fears is never pleasant, though, even if it can be cathartic.

Enjolras orders pizza, even though it’s like four in the afternoon and that’s a really weird time to eat a meal, but Grantaire doesn’t complain, and they sit there in companionable silence, eating pizza and watching cartoons. Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras could be like this. Grantaire didn’t know _anything_ could be like this, but Enjolras’ leg is warm against theirs, and Enjolras does this ridiculous little half-snort, half-laugh whenever something funny happens, and despite the fact that less than an hour ago they felt completely drained, Enjolras kindles something warm inside of Grantaire.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire does try not to feel inferior in the face of Combeferre, but when he has four pages of neat handwritten notes by the end of their philosophy lecture, and all Grantaire has is a half-assed doodle of Socrates as a weird fly mutant, they’re definitely feeling it.

Combeferre catches sight of the drawing and laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not even going to ask. Well, about that, at least. I _am_ going to ask you a favour, because it’s date night and I’m staying over at Courfeyrac’s, but I completely forgot I promised to give Enjolras the printouts of these flyers by tonight. Would you mind giving them to him? I wouldn’t usually ask, but I know you pretty much walk past our place on the way home.”

“Sure,” Grantaire says, as though their heart doesn’t jolt at the thought of seeing Enjolras again so soon, just the two of them. “No worries, man. Have fun tonight.”

Combeferre tries to suppress a smile, but it manages to slip through. “Oh, I will.”

“I’m going to take a leaf out of your book here and not ask.”

 

* * *

 

Combeferre loans Grantaire his key, in case Enjolras isn’t in, since Courfeyrac also has a key, so he’ll still be able to be able to get home tomorrow.

Combeferre needn’t have worried about Enjolras being in.

Not that Enjolras is in any position to let Grantaire into the apartment, but he’s definitely home.

He’s right there, sprawled across the couch with his curls strewn over a cushion, lying in the weirdest, most uncomfortable position, sound asleep.

He’s drooling a little, which should be gross, but it’s Enjolras, so it’s adorable. A copy of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ is open on his chest. Grantaire takes the book and slides a piece of paper between the pages as a bookmark. It’s a well loved copy, the cover held on with packing tape, the dust jacket long gone, and on the title page _Enjolras_ is written in painstaking cursive that’s still a little shaky. Grantaire smiles to themselves, and is just about to quietly set down the package of flyers and tiptoe out of the apartment when Enjolras stirs.

Enjolras’ usually sharp blue-green eyes are hazy with sleep, lashes fluttering as he blinks awake. “‘Aire? What’re you-?”

“Don’t mind me,” Grantaire says, and puts down the flyers next to the book, “Combeferre wanted me to deliver these, and I have, so I’m just going to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” Enjolras says, and the hand over his mouth doesn’t quite cover his massive yawn. “I was just going to get dinner, but I must have fallen asleep.”

“Go back to sleep, you obviously need it.”

“No, it’s alright,” Enjolras says, rubbing at his eyes. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I was only going to make pasta or something easy, so I can’t promise anything special, but you’re welcome to it.”

“You really don’t have to.” Grantaire desperately wants to say yes, but they also don’t want to inconvenience Enjolras.

Enjolras shrugs. “It’s a Friday night, and all I was doing was reading _Harry Potter_ by myself. The company would be appreciated.”

Enjolras wants them there. Grantaire’s heart melts. “Alright. But I’m helping cook.”

“That would be wonderful,” Enjolras says, and his smile is so beautiful it makes something catch in Grantaire’s chest.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re a _Harry Potter_ fan,” Grantaire says, when they’re washing up the dishes together, painfully domestic.

Enjolras smiles at them, and blows a handful of bubbles into their face. “Of course I am. Students challenging a corrupt establishment and a genocidal, power-hungry dude? Sign me up.”

“Of course that’s what you fixate on,” Grantaire says, rolling their eyes as they take one of the plates and start drying it.

“I’m not _only_ interested in revolution, you know.”

“I know.”

Enjolras just smiles at them, as if Grantaire has him all figured out, and that’s when Grantaire knows they’re completely fucked.

 

* * *

 

“Joly, I think I’m in love with Enjolras,” Grantaire says, as soon as they’re in the door.

Joly looks up from Bossuet’s knee. Grantaire thinks it’s carpet burn. They don’t want to know. Although, it is Bossuet - he could have got that anywhere. “Darling, that’s not news.”

“No, like, _actually_ in love with him.”

Joly drops a kiss to Bossuet’s forehead. “All done, sweetheart,” he says, and turns to Grantaire. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Bossuet props his chin up on his hands. “Do you need romantic advice?”

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta have possibly the happiest, healthiest relationship Grantaire has ever come across. They’re somehow even more chill together than Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are a disgustingly amazing couple. “Actually, yeah, I think I do.”

“Come talk to the love master,” Bossuet says.

“Oh dear,” Joly says, from beside him. “Honey, what was that you just said?”

“Something that should never be repeated.” Musichetta appears in order to also give Bossuet a kiss on the forehead. “Congrats, R. Let’s get your shit together.”

Grantaire sighs. “I love you guys, you know that?”

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting at a cramped little table in some random cafe when Grantaire finds the courage to bring it up. It’s been grating at them for weeks, and it’s now at the point where it feels as though it’s going to burst out of their chest if they don’t talk to Enjolras about it. They’re so anxious about not saying it that somehow finally getting it off their chest scares them less than keeping it shoved away for weeks longer does.

“So, uh.” Grantaire fiddles with their coffee cup. “I have something to tell you?”

Something sparks in Enjolras’ eyes. “Yes?”

“You probably noticed, but I used to have this giant weird crush on you.”

“It had come to my attention,” Enjolras says, voice level, giving nothing away.

Grantaire breathes deep, finding the courage for the next part. “I don’t feel like that anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I think I might be…” Grantaire takes another deep breath. “I think I might be falling in love with you for real and I’m sorry if that makes things weird. I totally understand if you never want to speak to me again, I just felt like shit not telling-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupts gently, reaching across the table to take their hand, easing their fingers out of their death grip on the cup. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m relieved, actually. I was trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing.”

Grantaire stares at Enjolras’ ridiculous, beautiful face. “You what?”

“I’m falling in love with you, too.”

“Oh, shit.” Grantaire can’t help the grin that spreads across their face, so wide it almost hurts. “This is literally the best news ever. Are you sure?”

Enjolras laughs, squeezing their hand. “I’m sure.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, my.”

Grantaire looks up as Joly barges into the room. It’s not like they’re doing anything incriminating; they’re just working the kinks out of Enjolras’ back after a long day in his binder. Sure, Enjolras is spread out half-naked on their bed, but he’s pretty clearly on the receiving end of nothing more explicit than a massage. “Fuck off, pal.”

Enjolras snorts, muffled by the sheets. “Charming.”

“I’ll just… go now…” Joly says, edging out of the room. “Congrats on sorting your shit out. It’s about time.”

“I hate our friends,” Enjolras says into the bedsheets. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

“You love them, really,” Grantaire says, nudging Enjolras over onto his back to kiss him.

“Yeah, I do,” Enjolras admits, as if it’s a secret, when everyone knows how much he adores his friends. “You included.”

“Aww, babe. How embarrassing.”

Grantaire gets hit in the face by a pillow, and has no doubts they deserve it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> once again, this is ridiculously sappy and I have no shame  
> I'm willowveild on tumblr and I would absolutely love it if you dropped by to say hi <3


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